


if the world knows what my secrets are

by strangetowns



Series: saw your face, heard your name [1]
Category: Lovely Little Losers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, F/F, Secret Relationship, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6080535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangetowns/pseuds/strangetowns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I hate a lot of things,” Freddie says. “Tea, and cranberries in my salad, and family reunions. Also, cameras.”</p>
<p>“You’re a terrible person,” Meg says dryly.</p>
<p>“I don’t hate you.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Day 1 of Lovely Little Femslash Week - Secret Dating</p>
            </blockquote>





	if the world knows what my secrets are

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively: Freddie is a politician, and Meg is a freelance writer. You do the math.
> 
> I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies [and also for my absolute inability to do journalistic writing] because I'm not sure that any of this fic is actually realistic in any way but also I had way too much fun to care.
> 
> Much thanks to my betas [niuniujiaojiao](http://niuniujiaojiao.tumblr.com/), [boxesfullofthoughts](http://boxesfullofthoughts.tumblr.com/), and especially [rumpelsnorcack](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpelsnorcack/pseuds/rumpelsnorcack) for the crash course in NZ politics. Any mistakes on this topic are entirely mine.
> 
> Title is pulled from Mary Lambert's “[Secrets](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqqqV50zaAc)”.

**_Dreams, Democracy, and Freddie Kingston by Meg Winter_ **

_[EXCERPT OF ROUGH DRAFT]_

_…_

_At the impressively ripe age of 35, MP Freddie Kingston is already dreaming big._

_“I will be running for party leader,” Kingston announced Saturday night to a crowd 2,000 strong – certainly nothing to sneeze at, for a party as young as hers – and raucous cheers. Though she is only halfway through her second term in Parliament, her support base is already formidable, and it only grows by the day._

_“No, I don’t think something like this is outside of my reach,” Kingston says when asked if her dreams are too ambitious, her gaze piercingly passionate. “We are aware of the challenges, the barriers – but I firmly believe I am ready to face them. And anyway,” she adds with a laugh, dispelling any illusion that she is too idealistic to be down-to-earth, “how will I know until I try?”_

_Her supporters certainly seem to think Freddie’s bid this year is achievable. “She’s smart, she’s trustworthy, and she is incredibly capable,” Benedick Hobbes, Wellington resident and attendee of the rally, says. “Frankly, I’m a bit surprised she’s waited this long to try.”_

_Regardless of the success of her campaign this year, Freddie Kingston, as many who know her will agree, is a great politician, a great friend, and a great girlfriend_ |

|

_Freddie Kingston is the greatest person anyone will ever meet tbh_ |

|

_Freddie Kingston has a REALLY NICE FACE_ |

|

_AAAAAARGHHHHHHHH_ |

|

_Freddie Kingston, as many who know her will agree, is a great politician and a great friend_. _(fuckballs)_ |

_Freddie Kingston, as many who know her will agree, is a great politician and a great friend_.|

-

When Freddie gets home, she can hear the coffee maker burbling lightly from the kitchen.

“Babe, that you?”

Freddie tosses her jacket on the coatrack and carefully places her shoes next to the doormat.

“I dunno who else it could possibly be,” Freddie calls back. She goes into the kitchen and pours herself a cup of coffee. Living with someone who has impeccable timing and knows the way she likes her coffee, she notes, is definitely something she would highly recommend (read: to herself; her someone is, unfortunately for everyone else on this planet, taken).

“What if you were an axe murderer? Ooh, or a ninja.”

“If I was either of those things, I doubt I’d be inclined to say anything at all before I tried to kill you.” She savors the warmth of the cup in her hands and brings the hot (read: just the right temperature, enough to put the feeling back into her tongue, but not enough to burn her taste buds off; perfect, or at least acceptable) liquid to her mouth. It’s bitter against her tongue, but also sweet, somehow. Her lips curl into a smile around the edge of the cup.

“Please don’t kill me. Also, you should totally come here.”

“I am.” Freddie is padding down the hall as they speak. “Jesus, so impatient.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to see my girlfriend after a long and grueling day of work…”

“Uh, I prefer the term ‘partner’, thank you.” Freddie opens the door to the office. “And, anyway, you’ve just been sitting there on your ass all day, haven’t you?”

Sitting cross-legged in an office chair, dark curling hair piled messily atop her head, Meg Winter (read: freelance writer, aforementioned person with impeccable timing, nothing short of an actual goddess) stops mid-typing to turn around and throw her a look that could wither whole forests. “Rude. You love this ass.”

“You’re right,” Freddie admits. She crosses the room and sits (read: sinks) into Meg’s lap, her head fitting into the crook between Meg’s neck and shoulder like a puzzle piece. As Meg wraps her arms around Freddie’s tired body, she can feel the tension seeping out of her muscles, slowly, with each beat of their hearts that pulse in tandem. A mere two seconds of shared warmth is enough for her to feel good (read: content, safe, _home_ ) enough to close her eyes. “I really, really love your ass.”

Warm lips press against her temple, each of her eyelids. Her mouth, tenderly.

“You are too cute,” Meg whispers.

Freddie says nothing, and burrows herself a little closer into Meg’s body.

“Your breath smells like coffee,” Meg says, reaching out to tuck a strand of Freddie’s hair behind her ear.

“I blame that on you,” Freddie teases.

“What?” Meg widens her eyes in mock horror. “It’s my fault for being the best partner you’ve ever had?”

“I dunno if I’d say you’re the _best_.” Freddie presses a finger to her chin and turns her eyes to the ceiling, pretending at being thoughtful (read: being a little shit, basically). “Top five, maybe?”

“You haven’t even had five partners!” Meg gasps out a laugh and slaps her lightly on the shoulder.

Freddie grins. “How was work?”

“Oh, I’m nearly done with that article,” Meg says, glancing at her computer screen. “The irony of my boss giving me, of all gorgeous and witty writers, this assignment still amuses me, but you know, I’d like to think I’ve done a decent job of staying objective.”

Freddie follows her gaze, reading the headline in bold at the top. She swallows past the sudden lump in her throat. “Oh. That old thing.”

“Yeah, that old thing,” Meg says, lowering her voice in a poor, but still rather amusing imitation of Freddie’s voice. “I wonder if me writing a glowing opinion piece about my secret girlfriend is breaking some sort of code of ethics. Probably, come to think of it.”

“Mm,” Freddie says. Her heart pounds so hard it feels like a hammer against her ribcage (read: oh, _fuck_ ).

Meg shoots her a strange glance, but doesn’t push it. “And what about you, oh great member of the parliament? How was your day?”

“Oh my god, if I have to hear one more word about budgeting, I might scream,” Freddie groans, burying her face into Meg’s neck. “It was the _worst_ today.”

Meg laughs softly into Freddie’s hair. “That’s what you say every day. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you hated being an MP.”

Meg is right, of course. She is about most things. As much as Freddie complains about the job, she loves it, really, loves proving her opponents (read: complete and utter assholes) wrong (because they are, about literally everything) in debate, loves immersing herself in the language and the importance of it. She is doing important work, she is helping make her country a better place, and there’s no other job in the world that could give her the feelings a thought like that inspires in her gut. It is, she feels some days, what she had always been meant to do (read: she was fucking _born_ for this).

“I hate a lot of things,” Freddie says. “Tea, and cranberries in my salad, and family reunions. Also, cameras.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Meg says dryly.

“I don’t hate you.”

“And I count my blessings every day,” Meg answers fondly, rubbing her hand up and down across her back. It’s almost soothing (read: totally disarming).

“Hey, Meg?” Freddie says the words into her skin.

Meg understands hers anyway. “Yes, darling?”

“I have an idea for your article.”

A pause (read: almost tense, certainly nerve-wracking, positively horrifying). “The deadline _is_ tonight, Freds, there’s only so much I can do to help along your stunning reputation.”

“No, it’s just one word.”

Another pause (read: oh shit oh fuck oh god what is she _thinking_ ). “Oh?”

Freddie straightens up a little in her seat and points a (read: trembling) finger to the screen, to the last sentence.

“I think the word partner should go here,” she says. It is a wonder (read: complete miracle) her voice does not tremble too.

Now, silence.

(Read: fuck fuck fuck fuck)

“Freds?”

She swallows. “Yeah?”

“Are you sure?”

“I…”

The words burst from Meg’s lungs like a flood. “Because, you know, this is a really important year for you, and I know you’ve been working your tail end off for a shot at being party leader on top of all the shit you have to do in Parliament sessions, and, well, I don’t really want to add more stress or anything on your plate – I mean, I know there’s a reason I agreed to keep this all on the down low, and I promise you, I really don’t mind – “

Freddie can barely take any of this speech in, there’s so much of it. She can feel herself staring as Meg’s eyes fixate on some distant point behind her and she talks rapidly. If Freddie didn’t know any better, she’d think Meg was actually flustered.

Sometime in the middle of it, though, what she’s saying really sinks in, and it’s not so much what she’s saying as it is what she means (read: I care about you, I want you to be happy, I am in this for the long haul; I love you).

Freddie thinks she (meaning herself, obviously) means all of it, too, which is so overwhelming she finds herself surging forward and kissing Meg hard before she can quite stop herself. Meg’s words die away, and she makes a little noise into her mouth, vibrations that make Freddie cup her face between her hands and kiss her harder.

When they finally break away, Meg looks at her with shining (read: radiant) eyes.

And that’s when Freddie blanches.

“Oh my god,” she says, clasping a hand over her mouth, horrified at herself. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you to shut you up, oh my _god_ I’m so sorry – “

“Freds,” Meg says, gently, and it’s enough to make her stop entirely in her tracks.

“Yeah?”

“It’s okay.” Her face bursts into a grin. “I love you, too.”

“Oh.” Freddie can feel her cheeks warming. It’s honestly embarrassing. “Yes, that.”

“God, you’re ridiculous,” Meg laughs, pressing her forehead into Freddie’s shoulder. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Freddie says, and it feels really good (read: amazing, wonderful; she feels _so alive_ ) to say it out loud.

“But seriously, are you ready for something like this?” Meg says, drawing her brows together in concern.

Freddie’s first instinct, of course, is no (read: _hell_ no).

But the thing is, she’s been in this business for years now, perfecting the art of making other people like you so they do what you want. She knows, now, how to bury her secrets, everything about herself, under her skin and in her heart so all anyone really knows about her is her sharp competence and her sharper words. She knows how to smile in just the right way, inspiring trust and confidence in her constituents, even on the days when the last thing she wants to do is smile. She’s spent a long time (read: too long) obsessing and worrying over her image, how the public sees her, how it’ll affect her chances at election, re-election, and now at becoming party leader. So maybe she doesn’t want to hide away the parts of herself that make her happy. Maybe she doesn’t want to let the thought of her public image consume her every thought anymore. Maybe she just wants to have a real reason to smile in public.

“Yes,” she says, firmly. “Of course.”

The look that unfolds across Meg’s face (read: relief, joy; _love_ ) is one Freddie doubts she’ll forget soon.

“I’ll do it, then,” Meg says, ghost of a smile still lingering on her red lips. “The whole world will know your secret, Freddie Kingston. I hope you’re prepared.”

Freddie leans in and presses a quick kiss at the corner of her mouth.

“I don’t want it to be a secret anymore,” Freddie says, and she lets herself smile, too.

-

_Regardless of the success of her campaign this year, Freddie Kingston, as many who know her will agree, is a great politician, a great friend, and – writing from experience – a great partner. A spirit as daring and ambitious as hers is rare to come by. She knows what she wants, clearly, and she knows how to get it. New Zealand waits with bated breath to see what she will accomplish next._


End file.
